The Sheikh’s Bargain Bride(24)

She reached out and touched his hand. It curled under hers and gripped hers with a need that she couldn’t reciprocate now. She knew all it would take would be one indication from her, a caress, a movement, a word, a sign. But she couldn’t do it. Why? She closed her eyes to see Abduallah’s face, so clear in her mind. The day was finishing as it had begun with the person who stood between them.

Zahir didn’t believe she understood much of their language, but she knew enough. And she also understood, probably at a deeper level than Zahir, the meaning of the Imam’s words. Honor had been in short supply when she’d been growing up. And in her future—whatever it might bring with Zahir—she was determined to not build her life on a lie. Zahir would know the truth about Abduallah, about Matta and herself, or else their marriage held no future.

She lay awake until late, much later than Zahir whose breathing soon quieted into the rhythm of sleep. She wanted him so much but she couldn’t wish away all that had happened, no matter how much she might want to.

She looked out the window, catching glimpses of the wide sky with each curtain curl and snap. She wanted to see the stars. But clouds had started to roll across the desert sky and what had started off as a clear night had become overcast. There was no light now.





CHAPTER SIX





The week passed in a blur of smiling and dancing and eating and drinking with people Anna didn’t know and doubted she would ever see again. But the family seemed pleased. Fatima was in her element, grinning from ear to ear and stepping in and taking charge of things when Anna either proved too inept or too disinterested.

It was the nights that Anna lived for. The quiet of the desert was beginning to grow on her. So different to New York with its street noise—people, traffic, constant driven stress. Here there was time to think, time to feel. And it was the nights that she saved for these moments. She lay beside Zahir night after night of that first week and still he didn’t make a move towards her.

Slowly the haunting face of Abduallah appeared less often in her dreams as the healing power of tears and talk wrought their magic. But still she felt unable to bridge the physical and emotional gap between her and Zahir because the feeling of being trapped, unable to be free, to be fully herself—whatever that might be—remained strong.

By the end of the week Anna had become accustomed to sleeping with Zahir and awaking alone. But this morning was different. She lay for a few moments and wondered what was different, what the rhythmic patter was that she couldn’t place. She looked at the clock. It was late—7am, much later than her usual 5am—and still dark. No brilliant sunlight beamed into the room, no shrill, strange dawn calls of desert birds to remind her she wasn’t in New York.

She looked around but a heavy silence reigned. Not even broken by a drifting of sound from elsewhere in the palace.

She rose and walked to the window. A heavy mist cloaked the palace and mountain, wreathing its mystery around the solid surfaces as if claiming them for its magic. Ragged tufts of mist drifted across the courtyard garden blown on a wind that was chill. Anna shivered and reached for Zahir’s dressing gown.

Pulling the gown tight around her, she walked out into the courtyard. The paving was slippery and damp beneath her feet. The boughs hung heavy with water and brushed against her face as she walked under them. The water from the fountain seemed less important now, under the watery sky. She leant back against the seat, relishing the chill of fresh water seeping onto her body from the low clouds, and let the damp caress her as if it were moist, cool towel on a hot day.

“Don’t tell me you like this weather?”

She opened her eyes with a start. She hadn’t heard Zahir enter the courtyard.

“I didn’t in the States but here it’s different.” She closed her eyes briefly and inhaled the fragrant, moist air. “I didn’t realize you had actual weather. I thought you only had sun.”

He smiled. “Yes, we have weather. How else would my ancestors have survived without water.”

“You have the spring.”

“Which was good for my father’s ancestors whose palace this was. But my mother and her family were nomads, surviving on what little Allah granted them from these clouds.”

“What can a brief shower do?”

He smiled. “I’ll show you. It’s about time you saw something of my country. Fatima has plans for Matta and his cousins for the next few days so we won’t be missed.”





It wasn’t until the afternoon that they set of, just the two of them in his four-wheel drive. Her face was flushed with excitement as her eyes keenly sought the horizon scanning it for what, he did not know. He doubted even she knew. Her thirst for freedom was one thing he couldn’t satisfy. Because to do so would mean letting her go. But he’d give her a taste of it.